


holding on

by osamumiyas



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, akaashi n iwaizumi kinnies RISE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29243223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osamumiyas/pseuds/osamumiyas
Summary: A friendship blooms in Tokyo.There’s something about it that has Akaashi thinkingmaybe.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Iwaizumi Hajime, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Kudos: 10





	holding on

A friendship blooms in Tokyo.

There’s something about it that has Akaashi thinking _maybe._

It’s a quiet yet persistent thought lingering at the back of his mind, he’s sure by the way Iwaizumi looks at him sometimes that he feels it too. Maybe they hadn’t needed them so much after all, maybe they were more than rudimentary pillars supporting a powerhouse. Maybe it was fine that they were content with this. This being sports science degrees, long nights in Tenma-san’s basement studio, drunken duets at karaoke and a friendship that brought more smiles than either of them would’ve really preferred. 

Then, they would play in the _24hr ramen spot spectacular tournament face off,_ crush the other teams with ease and relish in the feeling. It was those times, with a new ace who was just as strong and twice as mean, that made Akaashi realise they would always be chasing volleyball. University team starters, pulled into casuals at the park with strangers, a dull pain in his gut whenever the game felt too far away.

Their best friends were the former upper echelon of high school volley who had gravitated toward the city searching for something. A onigiri shop, a pro-gaming career, a literature degree and an internship with the volleyball association. He had an assisting position with the little giant of Karasuno who always gave him the best panels to draw and worked with the radio switched to the sports channel.

They couldn’t escape it even if they tried.

Those late night karaoke sessions which led to Akaashi’s place of work and a hearty bowl of tofu ramen always ended with confessions they would normally be too proud to say out loud:

_I’ll be the best setter in our University league._

_I’ll go to California after University and train under Utsui._

_My manga_ Go Spike Ito! Sink another level deeper! _will be shonen jump’s next big hit._

_I’ll take the Japan team to Olympic glory._

Then, as the train travelled past Shibuya and into their district, heads lolling against each other and rising star model Haiba Lev’s rendition of _I’ll make a man out of you_ in sloppy English playing on repeat in Akaashi’s mind Iwaizumi would say:

_Oikawa would’ve crushed you._

And Akaashi would say:

_The simpleton ace would’ve blown your arms off._

They would turn to each other with that look in their eyes – burning, pure and intense – grinning something manic. They’d scrap a bit on their way home, playful headlocks and short sprint races to the next corner. Akaashi would laugh louder, Iwaizumi’s teasing would roll of his tongue with ease.

They might fall into bed thinking a whole lot of _what ifs._

 _Aces_ , Akaashi would think, _aren’t they all the same?_

Never graced with enough time to dwell on what could be a blissfully simple life there would be a chime of _run, it’s Godzilla!!_ through the thin wall of their apartment and a groan to match. A scratchy _hey, Shittykawa_ of someone who had been on the edge of sleep. The sounds of the city behind them, the radio static of tinnitus that sounded like soles against wooden floorboards and the echoes of bouncing balls and –

_I’ve been out with Akaashi-san.  
He can hold his drink better than you.  
Can so.  
Can so.  
Can so.  
Listen, I feel like shit, it’s morning there, right? What do you want?_

The next morning, a persistent ring, Akaashi snuggling into his pillow in an attempt to ignore it. Then, Iwaizumi’s fist knocking loudly on the wall in a way that said w _e both know it’s for you, you lout._ He’d pull on a jumper that might be his roommates (just to relish in the disgustingly obvious pout it would tug out of his early morning visitor), boxers barely peeking out of the bottom it (definitely his roommates) and one sock. He’d answer the door because he didn’t care so much about appearances anymore.

“ _Ah-gash-ie.”_ Rattling voice, thundering of blood in his ears, cheeks dusted pink from exertion. “I ran all the way from Waseda.”

“Good morning, Bokuto-san.” Level voice, no inflection.

“I saw a picture of you with Osamu last night.” Hunched over, gripping a stitch.

“We were out drinking.” He would sigh, his head starting to hurt. “You woke Iwaizumi.”

“Sorry!” Then a wince, peeking at Akaashi with one eye open, _oops I shouldn’t have shouted._

A breakfast of miso soup after Bokuto had calmed down and his sweat dampened hair had started to go curly. Akaashi not getting changed, poking at the top of his lonely sock with his bare toes and accepting the routine hair ruffle from Iwaizumi as he went about making his morning coffee. Bokuto talking about the lingering eyes of scouts, the gruelling process of syncing up with a number of setters because his University used subs like a trump card. Iwaizumi playfully calling him _kouhai_. Bokuto frowning because he didn’t get it.

Tired eyes watching intently as a stream of soup ran down a post-run paling face until long, battered and taped fingers cut off its path past a jawline. Endless sounds of affirmation, the clatter of pots in the sink as Bokuto washed and Akaashi dried. The impatient hum of his friend as Akaashi showered and dressed in preparation for a 12 hour shift. Fighting a smile all the way to the ramen spot, not allowing it to come as easily as it does with Iwaizumi. A bowl that he’d prepared pushed over the counter, a tray of dumplings pulled from the back to fold so that the conversation could continue.

A quick goodbye thanks to forgotten commitments, stool scraping against the linoleum floor. Akaashi staring at a back that had once worn the _4_ to his _5._ A dull pain in his gut because the game felt too far away in this little ramen spot, in Tenma’s basement studio, even on the court of the second annual 2 _4hr ramen spot spectacular tournament face off_ with an ace just as bold.

Friendship had bloomed in Tokyo but unrequited had remained unrequited.

He would have to wait and see what next season had to offer.

Again. 


End file.
